Captain
by The Bunnies Will Kill Us All
Summary: OliverOC. What do you do when you're falling for your Quidditch Captain? You lie, you flirt though not very well , and you make a fool of yourself. Fluff. Humor. Romance.


_**Chapter One - Captain **_

I wasn't exactly sure what it was about Oliver Wood that I liked so much. Was it his eyes? Or his sexy Scottish accent? Maybe it was his apparent steely determination, or perhaps his ease on a broomstick… I'm not sure. I think I probably like most things about Oliver Wood, including the fact that he agreed to help me practice my shooting in private before the next Quidditch match.

You see, I'm the Gryffindor chaser, and I was, in fact, going to see if Oliver would like to come to Hogsmeade with me when I chickened out halfway through the sentence and made up some excuse about thinking my aim was off. I'm usually quite outgoing, but Oliver makes me nervous.

I can never be sure if I have Oliver's attentions, half the time he pays special mind to me, and others he seems to go off into a different realm entirely. We might be walking to Quidditch practice and he'll mention that he likes the blouse I'm wearing, I, overjoyed, grin madly and thank him for the compliment.

He also gets overprotective of me around Marcus Flint. The two don't get along and Flint has been known to yell out degrading things like '_Hey there, sweet thing_' whenever I walk by. I wonder if Oliver is shielding me from Flint's harmless crudeness out of brotherly affection or out of more personal feelings.

So far, the signs point in my favor.

But _then,_

_Then _there is Quidditch practice.

Urgh. I swear, he does a total 180˚ as soon as a quaffle is added to the equation. For some reason, Oliver picks on me. He's very practical and technically right, sure, but can't he be a perfectionist with someone else? Maybe it's because I join in with the Weasly twin's weekly mockery of his fanatical attitude towards Quidditch… but really, if he was that bothered by it he'd be difficult with Fred and George too.

So maybe the only reason he agreed to help me practice is that he finds me incapable of playing my position right. That is incredibly insulting. I shouldn't even go.

Sadly, I am already here, and have been so for thirty minutes, in case he came early. I am pathetic.

"Gellar." A very welcome voice sounded behind me, I spun around, careful not to hit him with my broomstick.

"You know, you could call me Bridget like everyone else, there's no one here to see you be nice to me." I joked. I often couldn't help myself from being stupid around him, this probably doesn't work in my favor.

He grinned and replied, "You never know who's lurking around the corner," I was delighted that he was playing along, "now, lets see you fly_ Bridget_."

This was the problematic thing, see, there wasn't much wrong with my flying, _or _my aiming, and once Oliver had ascertained this he would leave. He'd know that I'd dragged him out here for nothing. I mounted my broom with a foreboding feeling growing in my gut. Reluctantly, I kicked off and glided around to the goals.

Oliver was just behind me, and he had the sense to bring a quaffle, I felt slightly stupid for not thinking of such a mundane item.

"I have to say, I was a little surprised you asked for my help with your aiming." He said conversationally, as he swerved in front of me, hovering between the three goalposts.

"Oh?" I blinked; I was not only feeling foolish, but slightly guilty. Would he be mad when he found out I was wasting his time with my cowardice?

"You're my best chaser; I've never seen you have an off day, though you're a little slow on turns. You have excellent aiming abilities, but if you're having trouble, I'm happy to help." He smiled at me and the guilty feeling set in again. Hey, wait a minute; he just complimented me as a chaser! He doesn't think I'm an incompetent wreck! Yes!

"Oh…" I was looking madly for something to comment on, "I guess I didn't know you thought that. You're pretty tough in training." Great, Bridget, insult him. That will be_ sure_ to make him realize his passionate love for you.

Strangely, his warm, brown eyes sparkled, and a smile crept onto his face.

"I'm only a jerk at Quidditch practice because if I'm nice to you, the rest of the team will think I'm showing favoritism."

I blinked at him, the statement was serious, but his expression was light and teasing. I rarely saw him so carefree. I decided to make the most of his good humor, and pushed him a little further.

"Why me?"

"Because, you are one of the three girls on the team, and out of those three you are the only one who flirts with me."

It was at this point that my heart stopped and I broke out in desperate, nervous laughter.

"Oliver, I don't know what you're talking about!" there was a note of hysteria in my voice. I was sunk. I was never really sure if he noticed my flirting, and now I feared that he saw me as desperate. What would he say next? That I was too young for him? That he wasn't interested, and would prefer friendship? That a captain-chaser relationship was unprofessional and distracting? Whichever way I looked at it, I saw only heartbreak.

He shot a sideways glance at me, a smile creeping onto his face. I felt like an idiot, hovering not a meter away from him.

"Don't you?"

Its not _fair_! How come he gets to retain his charming presence and I go to ashes as soon as my romantic intentions are uncovered?! Why should he be the one to inherit such beautiful eyes? Or a cute Scottish accent?

Where's _my_cute Scottish accent?! There's no _justice_.

"Ah, no."

Out of apprehension and slight panic, I started to twirl my hair. It was then that I noticed that it was lank and greasy and in great need of a wash. I internally shuddered at what my shirt must look like, as I tended to wear more "durable" (horrible) clothing to Quidditch practice. I'm a mess. I'm an utter hopeless _mess_.

He hovered closer to me, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear and leaning in to whisper "I think I know what I'm talking about."

I could have died.

"Don't you?" he continued to whisper in my ear, pausing for my reply.

"Yes."

"Do you have any problems with aiming?" he pressed, I flinched internally, he had seen right through my scheme.

"N-no." this is where the path got treacherous, Oliver took Quidditch _very_ seriously, and if he thought I was exploiting his commitment to the team he might, well, _hate_ me for it.

"I think you like me." He was still speaking in the same hushed, alluring tone, and he was sill very, very close.

"Mhm." At this point, I couldn't afford to give him a straight answer.

"You have a crush on me." He wasn't going to let me get away, that much was evident.

"Yes." I was whispering too, now. I couldn't believe, that after three years of solid secrecy, that I had just told Oliver Wood that I had a crush on him. Of course, it was more borderline crush/creepy-stalker-obsession, but there was no need to throw in the gory details.

"Well," he said promptly, "let's get on with practice."

…

This boy was going to drive me INSANE!!

(((

Never, in all my years as chaser, have I had such a brutal training session. I swear, if there is a drill on sharp turns left in the world that I have not mastered, I will double over in shock. It was awful. And long. Oh, and we practiced my aiming for about two hours.

It's dark now. And we've missed dinner. I'm helping him clean out the broom shed now. He said he had promised Madame Hooch that he would in return for the _four hours _he booked the pitch for.

"Shoot." I sliced my thumb in the dark, cramped broom shed. I was on all fours, crawling around in search of the screw I had dropped, to no avail.

I crawled around a little more, but it was apparent that I wasn't going to find the screw in the utter darkness of the broom shed that cloaked me.

"Oh, that does it. _Accio!_" I grumbled, the screw flew into my uninjured hand.

"You probably shouldn't use magic in such a small space." Oliver mentioned.

"_Oh_," I growled, my patience had been wearing thin over the past four hours, "That's _it_!"

Oliver's expression was puzzled, but he seemed to grasp that this was not a good time.

"I get it, alright! You're punishing me for tricking you! _Fine_. Just… FINE!" at this point I had endured enough humiliation, and, in my desperate anger, I pulled out my wand and yelled "_Croakanio_!"

I large grey spark erupted from my wand and hit Oliver square in the forehead, the huge grey spark exploded on contact and with a flash, turned all the broomsticks into toads.

I stalked past Oliver, knocking him down, and leaving him sitting there, bewildered, amongst a pile of bouncing frogs.

(((

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_." I was freaking out, Verona and Victoria, fellow 4th year twins, were comforting me. They were my fellow chasers and the resident trouble makers of the girl's dormitory.

"So, what happened again?" Victoria asked.

"We were cleaning out the broom shed, and he said something, I forget, something about screws, and I jinxed him."

"You jinxed him?" Verona gasped.

"Well, I jinxed the broomsticks, really."

"You_ jinxed_ him." Verona breathed.

"_Stop saying that!_" I growled.

"_Wow_." Victoria said, slightly awed.

"Do you think he'll kick me off the team?" I asked, worried.

"Nah. Even if he doesn't like you, which I think he does, you're a good chaser, and worth a few frogs." Verona grinned.

"You really think he likes me? After I surrounded him with a vast number of _frogs_?"

"Sure. You two flirt like crazy. I like Oliver, he's a nice guy, but it _was_ kind of cruel of him to leave you hanging like that, and make you do sharp turns for _four hours_." Victoria reasoned.

"_Plus _the broom shed." I added icily.

"Yeah, but seeing as you turned the broomsticks into frogs, I'd say you could probably not count that. You know, to be fair." Verona quibbled.

"I'm hungry." I said, changing the subject.

"See, you're on the road to recovery already. Your appetite is spot on." Verona grinned.

We were about to get up and harass the Weasley twins (it was no secret that they'd do anything for Verona and Victoria) to go and harass the house elves in the kitchen to get us some food when Oliver appeared at the common room entrance.

I froze. He didn't look angry, which was a pleasant surprise, but he approached us rather politely and asked the twins to give him a moment alone with me. I mouthed 'no' to Verona and Victoria, but sadly they pretended not to see me and were already walking away.

"Sure, Oliver." Verona was quick to respond.

"See ya, Bridget. We're going to find Ash." Victoria smiled.

And they left. Off to find my other friend, Ashley, whom, by the way, would have _stayed by my side_. Not like those nasty little twins. Yes, I hope Ashley yells at them when they find her. They deserve it.

"So, you want to go eat?" he asked. I stared at him, gaping, in several levels of shock.

"Ah, erhm… Sure." I decided that it was in my best interests for me to comply with his wishes. He offered me his arm and I, slightly giddy, took it.

"About the frogs…" I started nervously; he raised his hand, and smiled, helping me through the portrait like a true gentleman. I started to get that guilty feeling that I had on the Quidditch pitch (before the drills) when I lied to Oliver about my aiming.

"This way," Oliver smiled, taking my hand and leading me down the multiple staircases. At one instance, I tripped at the sudden movement of the staircase, and was only kept from plunging to my death by Oliver Wood's secure embrace. He also found this a little funny, and so I started to sulk.

He simply smiled at the pouty expression on my face, and my crossed arms, and once again grabbed my hand and pulled me through endless corridors. I soon realized we were on our way to the kitchens.

"Why are you talking to me?" I demanded.

Oliver glanced at me cheekily, making no reply, but leading me into the kitchens, where we were met by a pointy looking house elf.

"Ah, hello, Dobby." Oliver smiled cheerfully.

"Hello Mr. Woodses, your food is nearly ready! We had to make the tomatoes again because Gobbly dropped them. I am so very thankful for the socks you gave me, sir, three socks! And so long! Gobbly told me they were football socks; they were so stripy and bright! Master Potter was more than right when he told me of your goodness, sir!" Dobby gushed, almost crying with gratitude.

"No problem Dobby, and thank you so much for the favor."

"It was no favor, but a privilege to cook for you sir, as Dobby loves to cook. So happy I was when you came to me three days ago to arrange a romantic meal. Dobby loves to cook romantic food!"

I blinked, trying to figure out the exchange. From what I could gather, Oliver had paid Dobby in socks to get him to make a romantic dinner. His date must have cancelled. Or maybe, my throat tightened; maybe he cancelled his date to practice with me. Oh, no wonder he was so tough!

"Oliver, I'm sorry!" I burst.

He looked at me questioningly, "For the frogs?"

"Well, that too. But you had to cancel your date to practice with me, I had no idea." I gushed, even though I was insanely jealous of the girl who should have been here in my place.

Oliver smiled, and rolled his eyes at me. I blinked.

"Gellar, you idiot."

"What? I ruined your romantic dinner!" I cried desperately, flinging my arms into the air for dramatic effect.

"Bridget Gellar, are you seriously telling me that you haven't figured it out yet?" his eyes were twinkling.

"Huh?"

"This dinner is _for you,_" he grinned, "I was glad you asked me to practice with you, because that gave me an excuse to keep you from dinner while Dobby and his friends prepared everything. I guess I was a little shocked at your reaction to everything, I didn't mean to make you upset. I just didn't want you guessing that something was up."

"Oh." I blushed, "Erm, well, I'm, ah, really sorry about the frogs."

"You've said that already."

"Guess so."

"Say something else." He almost begged. I blushed again, thinking.

"This is, er, very sweet of you." I started nervously; he nodded for me to continue.

"It, er, smells great."

He shook his head. Wrong.

"I'm sorry?"

He made an impatient noise, crossed the short distance in between us and kissed me.

It was a pretty interesting kiss. It was also my first, so I had no one to compare kissing techniques with, but from my angle it was all pretty good. The sensation was unfamiliar, and welcome. I decided that I very much enjoyed kissing Oliver Wood.

Oh my god! _Kissing Oliver Wood_! I am kissing tall, sexy, Scottish Quidditch Captain Oliver Wood! Huzzah!

"Yes!" I cried in victory, breaking away from Oliver.

"Huh?" Oliver blinked, confused by my victory calls.

"Yes, yes, _yes!!_"

"What are you saying yes to?!" he asked, frustrated.

"YES! I won! Take that, universe!"

"Okay, you've lost me here."

"**YES!!"** I cried, hugging his middle tightly.

"This is, er, nice, but I can't really feel my legs."

I let go of his middle and flung my arms around his neck, squeezing.

"Okay! Okay! Can't…. breathe…" he gasped, shocked at my enthusiasm.

I let go, looking at him impishly. He massaged his throat, but smiled at me all the same.

"_Yessss..." _I smiled contently.

"Would you like to eat now?"

"Yes." I piped, practically skipping to the small table that had been set up a little while away from the busy kitchen.

"Tomatoes?" he offered.

"Yes."


End file.
